You have been judged on your own accord

Our final word seals your fate

King of the Jews, the son of God

Now condemned to death and hate

INRI, INRI, false prophet

Carry the cross upon your back

And take it to where you'll die

A crown of thorns, for you dear king

With the other filth, be crucified

INRI, INRI, false prophet

Taste the blood that trickes from your ravaged
brow

As the sands of time run out

Lord of nothing is what we consider you

For victory is truly ours

Now you die